


Since We've Got No Place to Go

by halloweenieroast



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF Kink Meme, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:39:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halloweenieroast/pseuds/halloweenieroast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the ASoIaF kinkmeme: loras/renly, baratheon family. Modern AU. Loras experiences his first Baratheon family Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Since We've Got No Place to Go

‘You’re still sure you want to do this?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be, you dolt?”  
Renly turns, stares Loras straight in the eye. ‘You know why.’  
Loras just laughs, snatches the car keys and unlocks the car himself. ‘I’m not scared of your family, even if  _you_  are.’ He climbs into the driver’s seat, starts the ignition, and raises one eyebrow. ‘So if you’re chickening out - well, I’ll have to visit them on my own and drink enough for the both of us.’  
‘I suppose that’s that, then,’ Renly sighs, and Loras hears the resignation in his voice but it only makes him laugh because he always ends up getting what he wants. Renly can’t pretend to be annoyed, either, so he just grins and climbs into the passenger seat. ‘But if you’re driving,  _I_  pick the music.’  
Loras pulls out of the drive and nods his head along to Bing Crosby, and while he’d much prefer Michael Buble he decides that Renly singing along, low and uneven, is worth it.   
  
*  
  
Robert Baratheon’s house is  _huge_ , like something out of a magazine. They pull into a drive tightly framed by tall, neatly clipped hedges. When they come to a stop at a threatening wrought-iron gate watched over by two immaculately sculpted creatures - a lion and a stag - Renly frees himself from his seatbelt and leans over Loras. Sticking his head out the window, he extends one arm and fumbles with an intercom by the gate.  
‘Who goes there?!’ comes a booming voice that can only be Robert, quickly dissolving into laughter.  
‘It’s your far superior brother and his infinitely charming significant other, let us in please?’  
‘Renly! Full of shit as ever, I see,’ comes the reply, but sure enough the gates swing open and Loras is able to continue his crawl up to the house.  
  
‘I don’t know what’s funnier,’ Loras grins as he parks between a crimson Porsche and a slate-grey BMW, ‘the fact that he’s got an intercom system, or that he sounds drunk already.’   
‘Neither of those things are funny at all,’ Renly says, but he’s grinning as they make their way toward the grand front door. He takes Loras’ hand and squeezes it tight.  
  
*  
  
Loras is somewhat taken aback by the cries of ‘Uncle Renly! Uncle Renly!’ as soon as the door is thrown open. A woman who can only be Selyse Baratheon herds the three children away from Renly’s legs and gives the two of them a tight-lipped grin. Something about her makes Loras feel incredibly unwelcome, but he’s determined to prove a point to Renly, so he grins broadly.   
‘You must be Selyse,’ he exclaims warmly. ‘I’m Loras, although I’m sure Renly’s told you.’  
‘Yes,’ is all she manages.  
He glances up at a sprig of mistletoe in the doorframe. ‘Oh, cute, Renly, look!’ He reaches out and holds old Stannis Baratheon’s wife by both arms, kissing her chaste on both cheeks. ‘I love that tradition.’  
Selyse turns, flushed, muttering something about checking on the ham. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Renly dissolves into laughter. ‘Give us a kiss then, love.’  
Loras touches his lips to Renly’s softly, smiling against him. ‘I’ve made a lasting impression, at least,’ he murmurs.  
  
They jerk apart as Robert thunders over to greet them, paper crown askew on his head and a full glass of wine sloshing about in one hand.   
‘There they are,’ he says fondly, loud enough to rouse the whole street. Renly pushes his hair back with one hand, looking like he’d rather be anywhere than here.   
‘It’s one in the afternoon,’ he hisses, ‘why are you so drunk already?’  
‘Merry Christmas to you, too,’ Robert snorts. ‘You’re meant to be the fun brother.’  
‘This isn’t just a family affair, is all,’ Renly frowns, nodding at Loras.  
‘What do you mean? Just because you’re not married doesn’t mean Loras isn’t  _family_ ,’ booms Robert, slapping Loras on the shoulder hard enough to make him cough. ‘Stop being such a Stannis, little brother, or you’re not getting any presents.’

*  
Loras can see every single reason why Renly didn’t want him to witness a Baratheon Christmas, and every one of those reasons is why he’s enjoying himself so much. Tall, graceful Cersei spends much of the evening stroking her eldest son’s hair and comforting him because he didn’t get the  _right_  presents, which would annoy Loras normally but after downing a few mysterious concoctions courtesy of Robert - well, then it’s just hilarious.  
  
Most of the presents have already been opened, leaivng a chaos of ripped paper and discarded boxes by the (huge, lavishly decorated in gold, black and red) tree. There are still a few left, though, that have been saved for his and Renly’s arrival. Renly and Stannis receive matching kitten pullovers from Tommen, photographic evidence of which will never be destroyed so long as Loras is there to guard it.   
From Myrcella, a  _Best Friends Forever_  necklace she halves with Renly, from little Shireen, a brilliant stag framed by flowers she painted herself. She stares at the ground, grinning and flushed, when Loras tells her she has quite a talent, and even Selyse cracks a smile.   
Robert hands over fine wine for both of them, and Stannis has opted for gift cards. He’s as hard-faced as ever when he passes them to Renly, but Loras is impressed anyway because he didn’t seem the gift-giving type at all. From Renly’s oldest and most unpleasant nephew, Joffrey, they receive mostly withering stares, although when Loras admires his new copy of  _Call of Duty_ , the kid seems momentarily impressed.  
  
*  
  
The dinner is, as one would expect, a strain on the table, copious plates of meat, salads, cheese and wine and candles. Loras sandwiches himself between Renly and Tommen, and he’s not sure which side the most childlike excitement is coming from. Renly, relieved by Loras’ embrace of his family, has relaxed dramatically. Even Stannis and his old wife have loosened up after a few drinks.   
The eldest Baratheon clears his throat, holding up a paper slip from a Christmas cracker he’s just broken with Loras across the table.  
‘What,’ he grins, ‘is the difference between a stoat and a weasel?’   
‘What, uncle Stannis?’ cries Tommen, elated by the presence of his stormy uncle’s rare cheerfulness.  
‘Well, one of them’s weaselly identified,’ he grins. Everyone groans loudly.   
‘What about a stoat, then?’ Renly smiles wryly, biting into a piece of turkey.  
‘That’s stoatally different,’ Stannis slurs, and Robert laughs so hard he spills half the pitcher of wine he’s holding onto his plate.  
  
*  
  
‘Oooh, the weather outside is frightful,’ croons Renly, who is drunker than he should be and has both arms wrapped around Loras’ waist from behind.  
‘But the fire is so delightful,’ Loras replies, lolling his Santa-hat clad head back against him.  
Robert turns up the radio. ‘Since we’ve got no place to go -‘  
 _Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow,_  and Loras is sure he even sees  _Cersei_  mumbling along behind her champagne glass.   
Loras has fairy lights wrapped around most of him, courtesy of the children, and has been decorated patchily with stick-on red Rudolph noses. He’s full, and content, and so, so pleased with his new extended family. He turns and kisses Renly firmly, and he tastes like cinnamon spice and good wine.  
‘Where’s the mistletoe?’   
‘Do I  _care_?’ he quips. ‘Merry Christmas, Renly Baratheon.’ He turns, still enclosed in Renly’s arms, and points to the Baratheons, huddled around the coffee table, surrounded by opened presents, abandoned mince pies and holly garlands, and grins braodly.   
‘Merry Christmas to you lot, too, and next year I expect you  _all_  at Highgarden Estate.’  
There’s a general laugh of agreement, and Loras feels Renly’s breath against the curve of his ear. ‘You have  _no_  idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, love,’ he says dryly, but Loras can hear the smile in his voice.  
‘I know exactly, thanks very much,’ he says softly. ‘And I couldn’t be more excited.’


End file.
